A World Away
by N7withpride
Summary: The Long Night is over. Bran the Broken is King, the North is independent, and Arya Stark is heading west to see what lies beyond. She wasn't sure what exactly she expected, but it definitely wasn't her long lost ancestors from thousands of years ago at war with a hostile species of raiders. Now she must find a way to survive this new land, filled with challenges new and old.
1. Arya I

**So yeah, Season 8 was a clusterfuck. I think most of us agree on that. It did have some good moments, especially in those first two episodes, but overall it fell flat in my opinion. But one thing that intrigued me was Arya going west. I asked myself "what will she find out there?" This story is my written version of what my answer in my head was. I hope you enjoy and please leave reviews they help a lot!**

The first thing she noticed as she stepped onto the wooden deck was the rain. It pounded the ships already soaking wet deck in constant, large drops that felt like shards of ice against her face. The ship rocked viciously from side to side.

She looked around as her crew frantically ran around the deck, pulling ropes and tying things down as they attempted to keep the ship above the ocean floor.

"Lady Arya," the voice of her guard, Cregan Snow, yelling to communicate over the heavy rains and shouting crewmen. "It's safer down in your quarters, mi'lady."

She looked up at the mountain of a man, barely smaller than The Hound, and shook her head. "I'm no lady, and I can take care of myself." She walked up the stairs towards the captain, clutching onto the stair railings as the ship shook violently.

"I don't doubt it, little princess," her fellow Captain and the man sailing the ship, a man from the far away Summer Isles named Zhollar Qhaa, stated as he turned the wheel and in between barking orders to his crew. His voice had a fiercely foreign accent, one she assumed was from the Summer Isles as she hadn't met enough of their people to confirm or deny. "I hear ya can kill anything. Feel like killin' the raging clouds or big fuckin waves?"

Arya glared at him as she stood next to him.

"Oh, no? No cocky quip?" the man laughed, before turning to a crewman. "You, get yer head out yer arse and do your job! You're good at fightin, at killin. That's all well and good. But those skills aren't particularly useful to our current situation. You're of no use here, Stark, so I advise ya get below deck and let the best Captain on the water do what he's good at!"

Arya scowled, standing in her place. She hated to admit it, but he had a point. "This is my ship."

"No, it's OUR ship," he chided, that self satisfied grin staying on his arrogant face. "That was our deal."

Arya just looked on to the chaos on her ship and the storm they were inside. Lightning shot through the sky, brilliant beams of bright yellow light flashing , seemingly getting closer with each bolt. The clouds that dominated the sky were so grey they bordered on black, as they pelted the crew of the Nymeria with rainfall.

She named the ship in honor of her direwolf. It was to remember her by, another memory of a time long since over. An Arya that's long dead.

What was she even doing here? She sighed as she watched her crew perform admirably to combat the one enemy no amount of skill could truly defeat: nature. She tried to allow hope inside her soul, to hope that she didn't sign the death warrants of these men and women when she undertook this voyage.

Unsurprisingly, it failed. The hopeful little girl who dreamed was gone, and she couldn't give herself the luxury of hope.

She hoped her father wouldn't be killed. She hoped she'd see Robb again. She hoped that Gendry would come to Winterfell with her instead of staying with the Brotherhood.

Gendry. Lord of Storms End now. She hoped he was happy, that he found a lady of Storm's End. There was a time when she would have said yes to his proposal. That time had passed. She wasn't Arry anymore, the girl who traveled with him and Hot Pie and who knew deep down she cared for the stubborn bull. She was a killer, a monster whose responsibility was to kill other monsters. She couldn't be what he deserved, not anymore.

There was nothing left for her in Westeros that didn't hurt. Winterfell wasn't Winterfell without Robb's pranks, or Rickons loud playfulness, or Bran and her running around playing as knights. Without her mother's scolding and her father's wise words and strong hugs that made her feel like nothing in the world could harm her.

She shook her head, focusing on the situation at hand. As she looked, she noticed, far in the distance, the seas were finally calming. The crew cheered as they noticed it too.

They survived, she allowed herself a smile. THey live to sail another day.

As the ship made it past the dying storm last attempts to end their voyage early, Cregan made his presence known once again. "It appears we have survived the worst of this, thank the gods."

This wasn't the gods work, she thought to herself. The gods do nothing but take. No, this was THEIR victory, the crew of her ship.

It was, however, a small victory. After an hour or so more of sailing, she looked into the horizon and saw something she hadn't seen in months. "Are those…?"

"Ships? It appears so…" Zhollar said. "You, man, get up on the crows nest and tell me what ya see." He tossed a crewman a spyglass.

The man took to the ropes of the mast, climbing up to the top of the ship, and looked out the spyglass. "It looks to be...ships...dozens of em...in some sorta fight! Lots'a fire!"

Zhollar looked at Cregan. "What's that you said? Thank the gods? Well, I think the gods just told us to go fuck ourselves."

"Please, oh illustrious co-captain," Arya said with a sarcastic and mocking tone of respect. "Enlighten me as to why we are sailing TOWARDS the fighting ships?"

"Because, little lady," he shook his head with another smug laugh. "Battles mean people, people means land, and land means a fucking break!"

She had to admit, that was sound reasoning. They had to be civilized people if they had ships of that size, and that meant a place to at least rest.

The ships neared their view, and it finally dawned on them just how massive this battle was. There had to be a hundred ships in the water, engaged in fierce combat. Arrows rained from the sky almost as intensely as the rain from the storm on the ships as many were engaged in brutal combat aboard their decks.

There was one detail that struck Arya, shaking her to her very core. "Is that...a Stark Sigil on some of their sails?"

Sure enough, on many of the large vessels engaged in the melee, the grey Direwolf of House Stark stood proudly on display on the white sails. What in the seven hells was going on here?

**And here you have it! Chapter one of my story A World Away! Some of you may be able to guess what is going on if you're game of thrones lore nerds like myself, if not all will be revealed within time! I hope you enjoyed! Please leave reviews!**


	2. Torrhen I

**Hello! I'm really happy with the response I've gotten, so here is chapter two! My second POV character, Prince Torrhen Stark! You will probably have just as many questions as last chapter, but do not fret! Much will be revealed soon! Hope you enjoy and please review!**

It was chaos. The bloody lizards had ambushed their fleet as they were patrolling the seas, one of the largest raiding parties he'd seen to date from the fuckers. This would be no easy fight, but he was a Stark, and Starks endured.

He drew his blade as he watched enemies board his ship. He dodged an axe, staring at the scaly face of his large opponent. An Uid'hir warrior with scales black as night. Two horns protruded from the top of its head, deep gray in color. Its eyes glowed red, with thin black pupils. The beast stood well above him, chest bare of any armor showing off its scaled body. Its back was covered in talons of all types of sizes, the largest ones coming out of the beasts spine. It held a large axe in both its massive claws.

He dodged a swing from said axe, sidestepping the attack and driving his longsword at the creature in a thrust attack. It roared in pain, swinging once again with the blade still lodged in the thick scales that acted as armor. Torrhen ducked under the axe, driving forward with his hands still on the blade and pushing it all the way through the Uid'hir before pulling it out and raising the blade over his head and slashing its throat.

Torrhen looked around, surveying the battle. He had been at war with the Uid'hir for as long as he could remember, the scaled raiders attacking his people and his ships from lands far away, searching for conquests and slaves. The Starks stood their ground, though, and war had been waging for decades. His men appeared to be winning the fight as they engaged the Uid'hir, lizards of many different sizes falling to Stark blades.

A blade thrusting at him shook Prince Stark from his revelry, and he was just fast enough to put his steel gauntlet up to deflect the blade so it didn't pierce him. He brought his own blade up, cutting the lizard across the chest and then twisting his wrist to impale his blade in the lizard.

"Finish them off," he roared with a grin to his men. "Bring winter to the fuckers!"

An Uid'hir with a long glaive charged, slashing at Torrhen and he sidestepped. The two circled, the lizard poking with his weapon and Torrhen parrying the probing strikes. A piercing pain breaks the stalemate of the two warriors, tearing through the leather of his armor as he feels cold steel glide against his back. He turns, roaring in pain and sweeping out with his blade to strike the Uid'hir who attacked him.

He entered a defensive stance, blocking the sword strikes from the other warrior. He stood angled so he could see both opponents, twisting his upper body back and forth as he parried both glaive and sword. He stepped backwards, avoiding the thrust of the glaiveman before grabbing the wood of the shaft, directing it at the swordsman. The blade pierced the Uid'hir, and it let out a roar as it backed up in pain, before falling over the side of the ship. He then slit the throat of the glaiveman.

He heard the cheers of his men, flooding his ears with roars of pride and joy. It appears they've won, he thought with a grin. The wolves feasts again on lizard. He watched as the Uid'hir ships that could escape began rowing away, and nearly motioned for his ships to pursue.

"My Prince," he heard from behind him, and turned to his right hand man Elias Mormont. "Another ship approaches. It flies our banner, but.."

"But what?" Torrhen asks, as he stands next to the man. "What's the problem?"

"This ship is sailing...from the east."

Torrhen stood there, shocked. He froze in place, nearly dropping the blade in his hands. Could this be a ship from their ancestors, the ancient home of House Stark? Could the Kings of Winter have found them?

"Back to your stations, men!" he bellowed, shaking his head to wake himself from his shock. "We sail to meet them!"

His men cheered in reply, returning to their positions. The small frame and sleek design of the Stark ships made them more maneuverable than most vessels, which was excellent for ships that patrolled the Winter Archipelago that the Starks inhabited, a name to symbolize their ancestry despite its direct contrast to the tropical weather of the isles.

His mind raced as his ship travelled towards the other Stark ship, wondering exactly what this encounter would entail. He had so many questions. Why were they here? Were they still Kings of Winter? What was Winterfell really like? He had been taught from a young age about his ancestors, the Starks of Winterfell. He wondered who he would be meeting. Perhaps another Brandon the Shipwright. Maybe a stoic king like King Rodrik Stark who won Bear Island, or a hungry wolf like King Theon Stark.

Finally, the two ships were next to eachother, and were within range to speak to eachother.

He took a second to assess the crew of the vessel flying his ancestral banners, and was shocked at the diversity. First thing he noticed was the man who appeared to be captain of this vessel, a man with skin a deep brown and a well trimmed beard on his face. To his right stood a woman, about up to the shoulder of the captain in height, wearing typical male clothes and with a silk cloak draped on her shoulders pinned to her leather doublet with a wolfshead pin. On the left side of the captain stood a huge beast of a man, with a long brown beard and wearing what appeared to be the typical outfit of a Stark loyalist.

"I am Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell," the woman said, approaching the edge of her vessel to look at his. "Who are you, and why do you fly our banners?"

"It appears we have much to discuss, My Lady," he bowed his head at her. "I am Prince Torrhen Stark of the Winter Archipelago. We are ancestors, and welcome to our home. Allow us to escort you to our home, the Sanctuary? We can give your men shelter and rest, and get a meal in our bellies?"

The woman, this Arya Stark, stared at him, and he felt as if she was staring through his eyes into his very soul, her grey eyes probing him for any hint of dishonesty. Slowly, she nodded.

This was turning out to be an interesting day, after all.

**There you have it, chapter two of A World Away! Please be sure to leave some reviews, they really help and are appreciated! **


	3. Arya II

**Hello all! I am so sorry for the long hiatus. I just started College and it has been a stressful and busy time. But with this change has also brought a burst of inspiration to keep going and finish this story! I have a plan for how I want it to go, and will try to stick to a schedule of publishing weekly, most likely on Fridays. Enjoy!**

Arya stared off the side of the Nymeria, watching her vessel slowly approach port at this "Sanctuary" the man claiming to be a Stark referred to. Thoughts raced through her mind, so fast she could barely pin one down long enough to fully digest it.

How was this possible? How could there be another Stark this far west? The last Stark who attempted to go west was Brandon the Shipwright thousands of years ago, but he died in the voyage.

Or did he?

"What the hell is that?" The voice of the ever loyal Cregan Snow sounded behind her, and she turned to see him staring at something on land. She turned to look where he was looking, and spotted what must have been the cause of his curiosity. A large flock of strange, pink birds, all resting on one leg, the other picked up and bent gracefully to its light pink feather covered breast.

"I believe it is called a flamingo," Captain Zhollar chimed in from his spot at the ships wheel. "We have them in the Summer Isles. Majestic beasts."

"Why the fuck does it have its leg up?"

"Do I look like a fucking expert on birds to you, Snow?"

She smirked slightly at the banter between the two. It was not uncommon for the two men to bicker like small children, and she had had to reprimand them on many occasions (through bits of laughter, most times) on their behavior towards eachother. It often reminded her of her days travelling with Gendry and Hot Pie.

She shook the memory from her head, focusing on the situation at hand. She was in foreign lands, meeting with people claiming to be her long lost ancestors. She had to be ready for any and all possibilities.

Her mind wandered to Torrhen Stark. His every feature screamed Stark. Long brown hair tied back in a half up, half down style. Light stubble on his long, sullen looking face. Grey eyes cold as ice. Brown leather cuirass that was commonly worn by the men of House Stark. He looked like what she pictured when people talked about her father was like when he was younger.

It was believable, which is what made the whole situation so bafflingly unbelievable. What are the chances that she would travel to a completely unknown part of the world, only for the first thing she encountered to be long lost ancestors of her own house? The gods sure did love their jokes.

The island the ship approached was massive in size, filled with large jutting rocks and uneven terrain. She saw the outline of a castle nested on top of one of the hills, sitting against a large mountain. Below that, towards the dock they now approached was a large town.

The ship docked into port on the island, and Arya took the time to scan the area. The dock was built of a light colored wood, as were almost all of the buildings in the above average sized town that was built beside it. It was no King's Landing, but it certainly wasn't a small hamlet either. The dock was filled with people, going about their business with the typical hustle of city life.

The crew of her vessel disembarked as they pulled into port, stepping foot onto the dock. Many people stopped, staring at the many unique faces of her crew. She noticed a few faces that drew her attention, due to the unique markings on their faces and their pointed ears.

Torrhen's ship docked soon after, and he approached her. "Follow us, my lady," he said as he walked. "Welcome to the Hub of Sanctuary. It's a short ride to the castle. We will pick up mounts at the guard barracks, where your men will be staying."

She nodded, and they walked through the town. Flora she had never seen before grew everywhere, and it seemed as if every house had a large garden. The scent of fish lingered in the air, a normally unpleasant smell that she had grown used to during her many months at sea, mixed with some sort of herbs she had never smelled before.

"The Winter Archipelago is quite different than Westeros, my lady, or at least from the Westeros I've read about. Winter isn't coming here, for starters," he grinned. "Each island has to maintain a level of self sufficiency, because travelling isn't exactly easy. Especially to the border Citadels."

"The border citadels?"  
"The farthest inhabited Islands from the Sanctuary. They are also the largest fortresses. We are at war, you see, with an enemy we barely understand. They are our first line of defense. There are four of them: the Citadel of the Dawn held by House Sunstark, the Dusk by house Nightwolf, the Hearth by house Umber, and the Bear by house Mormont."

Arya nodded, soaking in the words. Everything else was so foreign, it was nice to hear some familiar names. "Sadly Houses Mormont and Umber have recently gone extinct back in Westeros."

She studied Torrhen's reaction, seeing his face scrunch up in both thought and disappointment. "That is truly a tragedy. They are the most loyal houses to our family. Brandon the Shipwright only brought the most loyal with him on his voyage here, so many years ago."

"What other houses did he bring?" Arya asked, eager to move on from the losses in Westeros. Eager to move on from Westeros in general, if she were to be honest.

"Houses Ryder, Umber, Mormont, Greystark, Forrester, Cerwyn, and Cassel all sent envoys King Brandon."

Arya racked her brain on her house history, desperate to try to remember anything about the houses of Ryder or Greystark, but all that came to mind is that they fell out of favor and were replaced.

"A few houses have been created since we started settling the aisles. Houses Sunstark and Nightwolf are cadet branches of House Stark, both formed by sons of King Brandon's successor, King Arlan. Cregan Stark the Nightwolf, for his dark black hair and deep blue eyes, formed house Nightwolf, and Asher Stark the Bright Wolf founded House Sunstark. House Vymar is the first House formed by the native people of these islands, the Vymerians."

Arya mentally checked who are the people with the pointed ears and face tattoos off her evergrowing list of questions. "So your two races have peaceful relations?" This fact shocked her, for her every life experience has shown her that most indigenous people's do not appreciate foreigners invading their home. Thoughts of the Mad Queen flashed in her mind, before she forced them to leave. The Mad Queen made her think of Jon, and she did not want to think of her favorite brother and how he was handling his self-imposed exile.

"Aye, we do. Brandon didn't want a fight, and when our species met we developed an alliance. It was challenging, especially when we didn't speak eachother's language, but we learned. And when the Uid'hir first appeared and attacked the Vymerians, we swore to defend them. That is an oath we take seriously, above all others."

"Uid'hir? Is that who you were fighting when we arrived?"

"Yes. Terrible creatures. Large reptilian men, scales of a wide variety of colors. They're ferocious, brutal, and uncompromising. We have not successfully taken one alive, any one we tried to has ended its own life before we could. We don't even know where they come from."

Arya nodded. It was a lot of information to take in and process. Her attempts to answer a question led her into another bitter war fought by her family.

"I know this is probably a lot to take in, my Lady. I'm having trouble with it all, myself, and I grew up here. Things are...tense, right now. My father, he is...unwell. And we have not found any way to cure him. So, I am acting as King in his stead, although I refuse to take the title. Not until he passes on. I just pray to be half the ruler he was…" Torrhen stared off into the forests, letting their ride turn into silence. She took some more time to study his features.

He was clearly young, probably younger than Jon if she had to guess. But his eyes held age that his body did not, the age of a man forced to grow up too fast. She knew those eyes well, it seemed all of her siblings held that same look. That intensity, the solumness, the constant calculations. A fire that has been suppressed, too tired to burn as brightly as it so desperately desired.

"With all due respect, my lady," Torrhen began, but Arya cut him off.

"Please, call me Arya," she insisted. "I'm no lady." That all too familiar phrase fell from her mouth, more to herself than to Torrhen."

"Well, Arya, what are you doing here? What led a Princess of Winterfell to sail the Sunset sea, a dangerous task, with a small ship and crew of men clearly not of the North?"

She knew she should have expected that line of questioning, come up with some satisfactory response. But, she just couldn't seem to. Her whole trip, she asked that same question, over and over again. Yet, no answer came up. None that truly satisfied her. Yes, she was curious what was out there. Yes, she did want to know what was west of Westeros. But, there was something..morethan that. Something she couldn't place, couldn't put words to. Deep down, there was an answer. Maybe that's why she left, to find that buried reason that she locked deep into the back of her mind and to finally bring it to light. So that the weight she carried on her own for so long could finally be dropped and she could _let go. _

"Westeros had no more need of me. I wanted to know what else was out there, so I decided to go find the answer."

"A valid response," he said, although his gaze remained skeptical. Perhaps he sensed her inner turmoil, saw through her walls and knew that there was more. Maybe he just was smart enough to realize that vague curiosity wasn't a good enough reason to risk her life to travel into completely uncharted waters with a skeleton crew, there HAD to be something more. But none of these extremely valid opposing views left his mouth, instead a smile, genuine and bright despite how small it was, was all his mouth did. "You have a place here, with us, for as long as you wish to stay."

"Thank you, Prince Torrhen," she replied, genuinely touched by his kindness. It wasn't something she had much experience with.

"Just Torrhen," he shook his head at the use of his title. "We are family, after all. It shouldn't be much longer until we reach the castle. There you can rest."

Arya nodded, happy for the break in the conversation. This was quite a bit to take in, and she was still struggling to wrap her head around it.

She allowed herself a moment to assess her surroundings, as they rode in a comfortable silence. Everything was so vibrant, so colorful. There were no dull greens or browns, everything felt like it was almost glowing. Dazzling greens were everywhere, with foliage unlike anything she had ever seen. The trees towered over any in Westeros, populated with a unique assortment of creatures.

Even the weather was completely foreign to her. The air was so thick, it felt like she could feel every drop of moisture in it against her skin. The air itself seemed to stick to her, making it feel infinitely warmer than it actually was.

"We can get you more comfortable clothes for the weather once we reach the Castle," Torrhen spoke up, likely sensing her discomfort.

Eventually, they got near enough to the castle that it could be seen. High walls towered in the distance, built of dark brown stone. Moss and other types of foliage dotted the strong walls, giving it an almost natural look. The keep itself followed this same concept, with deep brown stone and a plethora of greenery growing on the old stones.

The Keep itself was nestled on the sides of three large hills, creating natural land fortifications all sides. The Keep only had one wall, where there was no hill to protect it. It was massive, not as large as Winterfell or the Red Keep but definitely formidable in its own right. It seemed to take inspiration from Northern architecture, mostly, but with the typical nuance that comes from building a new landscape.

The Stark riders rode through the gates, opened when they saw them approach, and Arya was taken aback. It truly was beautiful. The hill on the east side of the keep had a naturally flowing waterfall, leading into a large lake in the center of the courtyard. A large statue of a Direwolf sat in the middle of this lake, standing on a pedestal with water spewing from its snarling mouth.

"I've lived here my whole life, yet I still find this place absolutely awe-inspiring every time I see it," Torrhen spoke up, dismounting his lizard. "Follow me, I'll show you to your chambers."

"Do we not need to put our mounts in some sort of stable?" Arya questioned as she jumped down.

"The Greko's are intelligent beasts, Arya, they know where to go," Torrhen commented, and sure enough his mount took off, racing towards another part of the castle. "They know where their home is."

Arya nodded, truly impressed. This was not a place she pictured when guessing where northmen would thrive, and yet here they are, making a home out of a land the total opposite of the one their ancestors populated.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, and instinctively reached towards needle, resting on her left hip, ready to strike at whoever was sprinting at them.

"Prince Torrhen!" a voice called out, the voice of the man running at them she deduced, and allowed herself to relax. He wasn't a threat, probably. "Come quickly!"

"What is it, lad?" Torrhen questioned. "What has happened?"

"A war council has been called, the Lords are waiting on you! The Citadel of the Dawn has been attacked!"

"What?!" Torrhen exclaimed, in shock. "I am sorry, Arya, I must see to this. You are welcome to explore the castle as you wish. You are an honored guest. I hope we get to speak more soon."

With that, Prince Torrhen Stark practically ran into the grand castle, leaving Arya and Cregan on their own to sort his all out.

**Please review! They're very important for me to know how to improve! Next chapter is one I'm very excited for because we introduce a new POV character!**


	4. Magister I

**Hello all! This is a chapter I've been so excited to share! This chapter introduces a new character we will follow! Enjoy, and please don't forget to review!**

Sand crunched underneath his boot, one of the few sounds to grace the nearly vacant night air. Faint clicks of insects could be heard in rhythm, and the slight glow of them flying was visible throughout the clear sky, shimmering in the glow of the full moon's light. The air was so thick with humidity it seemed to hug the bare skin on his arms.

The Magister grinned, flexing his fingers as he strutted towards the object of his next conquest. The Citadel of the Dawn. The first line of defense against an invasion from the Uid'hir. The large keep was built on the center of an island, the fortress taking up nearly the entirety of the island's land mass.

He looked up at the large castle in front of him, surveying his target. Its large, white spires jutted out from the ground in neat formations, creating the outer perimeter of the massive keep. Five such towers were placed at the corner of the hexagonal Citadel, connecting the large walls that were the first hurdle in assaulting this keep.

He kept pace, approaching the keep until he stood about seven feet from the towering gates. He cleared his throat, as audibly as he possibly could. "Attention, attention! I have good news and bad news, which message would you like to receive first?!" His voice carried through the air, reaching the abundance of archers and soldiers manning its battlements.

"Who the fuck are you?!" one of the men on the walls fired back. "And what the fuck do ya want?!"

"My, my, how rude of you?! I come here, alone, in good faith, bearing a message, and you don't even have the courtesy to introduce yourselves? I had no idea the Sunstarks had such little a grasp on the concept of manners, you truly are terrible hosts!"

"Hosts?! We aren't hosting you! Leave, or we will fire upon you!"

"Oh, but you are. That leads to my news!" the Magister looked up to them, flashing a maniacal grin. His mouth was all they could see, a hood covering the rest of his head and face. "Bad news is, this Castle belongs to me now, or the pile of rubble that is left of it when I am done. But, before you die, you will be able to witness the work of a true god! Rejoice, for you will see the destructive ability of a man with infinite power first hand! It truly will be quite a show!"

With that last declaration, and before the men on the walls had any time to react, the Magister grabbed a knife from his belt, and with a flourish brought the blade down to his wrist. He dragged the cold steel across his exposed skin, feeling the flesh break and the blood within seep out of the now open wound.

Words of power began exiting his mouth, his hands moving rapidly. The blood exiting his wound followed his hands, twirling through the night air like a typhoon as he finished his incantation. The blood began to glow, deep crimson transforming into a glowing red. Suddenly, it flew into the sky, shooting towards the moon until it vanished from sight.

The once clear sky suddenly became overcast, clouds so grey they were nearly as black as night filling the sky. They traveled quickly towards the castle, blocking out any traces of stars as they approached. Violent rains poured from the newly summoned storm, as the echoes of thunder reverberated.

Lightning flashed, bright golden beams striking through the night and towards the Citadel of the Dawn. One made contact with the tower closest to the gate the Magister stood by, setting it ablaze. Bright orange cascaded upon the landscape as it decimated the white stone, exploding in a mass of debris that fell upon the frantic Sunstark guards.

"Phase one has been completed, quite well if I do say so myself," the Magister muttered to himself, grinning that monstrous grin of his as he basked in the glory of his magic's effects. More lightning struck the walls, causing raging fires and massive structural damage.

"Archers, fire at will! Someone kill that fucking monster!" he heard sound out, and suddenly a mass of arrows flew from the battlements and towards his position. He smirked, raising his hands in the air and letting out another chant. The arrows approached him, flying through the sky towards their target when, in an instant, they stopped. The arrows stayed directly in place, slightly shaking as they hovered in midair.

Phase two began shortly after this display of magical mastery. In the chaos, dozens of Uid'hir longships had managed to approach the island from all sides, and began swarming the dazed and terrified defenders. Hundreds of warriors threw their hooks onto the walls, climbing and assaulting the battlements.

It was a massacre. With the damage done by the raging fires and frequent strikes of magical lightning, the defenders were terrified and shaken, and were easy prey for the ruthless lizard men.

The Magister put his hands down, and the arrows fell limp to the ground. He laughed, a shrill sound, high pitched and filled with malice and lunacy. He reached to his hips, drawing the twin blades that rested on each side. He drew them, sliding the steel from the leather with an audible rasp. The blades were short and light, easy to wield in both hands.

"For the glory of the Magister, your one true god!" he bellowed, and charged, many Uid'hir warriors joining him in his charge of the now decimated gate.

His blade tasted blood that was not his own for the first time that day as he impaled a soldier carrying the sigil of house Sunstark on his shield. They ran into the inner yards of the keep, engaging in fierce combat with the men that had been kept in reserve behind the castle walls.

He dodged a strike from a spearman, swatting away the long wooden shaft with his right blade and piercing the soldiers throat with his left. Another vicious cackle fell past his lips, power coursing through his veins with each man that fell before him.

They charged through the castle grounds, flames raging and lighting their way as they approached the inner keep. The dazed and confused Sunstarks tried valiantly to muster up some form of a defense, but they were caught with their pants down. They had no idea how to fight a monster that wielded the power of the elements themselves on its side.

He surveyed the carnage of the battlefield. Any man who tried to surrender was cut down without mercy. Sunstark dead littered the ground, along with rubble from the fallen walls and ash from the burning structures. Eventually, he had finally made his way to the steps of the Inner Keep.

He stood, one foot resting on the first step, looking up at the doors to the inner sanctum. The castle itself was a towering structure, five floors of stones of the purest of white marble. The doors to this keep were wide open, as the few survivors tried desperately to reach the vague possibility of security within the keep.

They were wrong. There was nothing that could save them from him. His men charged, and the Sunstarks holding the gate open stared in shock. Their faces clearly demonstrated that it must have been impossible for them to get past the walls that quickly. They had no time to close the gates inside, although they tried their hardest.

The Magister allowed his warriors to enter the castle and clear it of the refuse, slowly making his way up the steps.

When he stepped foot inside, he saw the enormous great hall that he heard so much about. Massive tapestries displaying the grey Direwolf of Stark and the red wolf's head within a white sun of Sunstark. Long rows of brightly colored wooden tables stood, disheveled and littered with corpses of dead Sunstark soldiers. The white silken carpets were stained a deep crimson with the blood of the Lords bannermen. Truly, not as impressive as the stories had described.

A man sat on the throne that rested on a small dais, overlooking the slaughter in his hall. He was an older man, grey peppering his once auburn hair. He kept his hair cut short, with a thick but well trimmed beard on his face as well. He was dressed in typical Stark garb, the only difference being the leather was boiled black and not brown. His arms were covered in bright white steel, with massive shoulder pauldrons.

"You know, Lord Protector Eric, the whole 'everything has to be white' design is quite...tasteless. Although, all this white stained with blood really does create a brilliant atmosphere for your demise, wouldn't you say?"

Lord Protector Eric Sunstark glared at the Magister, standing and drawing the large greatsword that rested on his back. "Do not mock me, sorcerer. I will not stand for it while you trespass in my hall."

"Well, I would venture to debate that your claim to these halls has been...forfeit. Is that a fair argument?"

"So, now we have an answer to the question of who controls these vicious beasts. Are you their King?"

"No," he pulled his hood down, lips pulling themselves upwards in the manic grin that frequents his face. "I am their god."

The Lord Protector stared in shock, both at the statement the man made and at his ghastly appearance. The Magister's eyes glowed a bright red, his eyes surrounded entirely by deep black circles that went to underneath his eyebrows. The veins on his face were outlined in black, travelling down to his neck. The jet black hair that framed his head scattered around in an unkempt mess, and he was clean shaven save for his chin, which was covered in a beard that came out to a point slightly past his face. A crown of black steel rested on its head, jagged blades jutting from the band in a chaotic pattern.

"The only true gods are the Old Gods, boy," Eric snapped, stepping down the dais to meet face to face with the magister. "Face me, in single combat. End this bloodshed, end this foolish war."

"Well, if you are so eager to die, I will not deny you your final wish."

The Uid'hir warriors that were not busy mopping up any remaining resistance cleared to both sides of the Hall, allowing room for the duel that would decide the fate of this castle. The two men circled each other, neither making the first move right away. Finally, Eric lunged, his giant blade flying towards the Magister.

The Magister sidestepped, using the sword in his left hand to swat away Eric's greatsword. He lunged with his right sword, going for the throat of his foe. Eric raised his arm, blocking the blade with his plate armor, as he swung his greatsword in a wide arc to try to hit the Magister, who managed to roll out of the way at the last second.

"Not bad, for an old man," the Magister commented, a grin on his face. He leapt forward, flipping his grip on the blades so that he held them underhand and attempted to impale Lord Sunstark. He dodged the attack, and attempted to provide a counter attack of his own. The Magister landed where Lord Sunstark once stood, his right knee on the ground. He didn't give Sunstark a chance to counter, maintaining his onslaught of attacks. He was relentless, slashing away with his blades and keeping Eric on the defensive.

Eventually, the Magister finally made a mistake. He overextended into a lunge, leaving his torso exposed, and Lord Sunstark, the veteran soldier that he was, took the chance to strike. Steel pierced leather, the sickening sound of a sword piercing the meat of a human sounding throughout the once silent hall.

Lord Eric Sunstark gasped, gurgling blood and looking down at the blade that cut through his throat. He hadn't noticed the young man's other blade, until it was too late. Lord Sunstarks attack was stopped, centimeters away from contact with the monster he faced.

He fell to his knees, before collapsing to the ground, right on one of the bright white carpets in front of his throne. His blood pooled out, staining the carpet in a shape that almost looked like a wolf if one squinted.

The Magister laughed, wiping off his blade on the leather cuirass of his fallen foe, as he slid them back in their sheathes and walked up the steps to the throne. He sat down, adjusting to be more comfortable.

"Let anyone trying to flee escape," his voice boomed over the hall. "I want the Starks to know what happened here. To hear every grizzly detail. I am coming for them, all of them, and they will all be crushed like ants at my feet. Prepare to depart, we will not stay long."

The Uid'hir spearmen began slamming the butts of their spears against the ground, the swordsmen smacking the flats of their blades against their shields or their bare chests. The Magister grinned, leaning back against the throne and staring at the army. HIS army.

**There we go! Here is the big bad of this story! I hope you enjoyed, and please tell me if you see any room for improvement or have any thoughts!**


	5. Torrhen II

**First off, I am so sorry for the long wait! Life has been crazy. But I finally managed to put this together! Don't forget to review, and I hope you enjoy!**

"This is bloody ridiculous!" The booming voice of Armond Ryder, the colt, echoed as Torrhen stepped through the door to the council chambers. "Why are we standing here, arguing, when a monster just broke through our border stronghold!"  
"And what would you have us do, boy?" a reply came from the seasoned Lord Jonas Mormont.

"Bring all of forces to bare on the raiders who have breached our home! We can defeat them!"

"Enough!" Torrhen finally made his presence known, slamming his fist down on the war table. "Enough fighting. Now, will someone please tell me how the fuck they managed to break through our finest stronghold? They've tried many times and have failed every time. What changed?"

"According to reports, as well as the few survivors who have returned here, they have a blood mage, one of immense power. He was able to channel the weather itself, levelling the walls."

Torrhen stared at Lord Mormont in shock. "We've never seen a mage with that much power…this is dark news, indeed."

"So, what shall we do, Prince Torrhen? I say we bring all our forces here, and reinforce our position."

Torrhen turned from the table, staring out the large window of the council chambers. He watched the waves crash against the rocks, brain moving a mile a minute as he considered his options.

"What good does reinforcing this position do? What can our walls do, against a man who controls the weather itself? No, we cannot sit and wait. We must strike. We must take our citadel back, and we must drag the lizards kicking and screaming out of our home. Send the messenger hawks, I want every man our banners can spare, every ship they can give to rally at the Eye of the Old Gods. From there, we sail for the Citadel of the Dawn."

"Your Grace, I must advise caution," Lord Dominik Forrester, the aged veteran spoke up. "We do not know the full power of this…monster they have employed."

"That is correct, Lord Forrester, but that is exactly why we cannot afford to be too cautious. We must act, now before we lose even more strength. But we will not be going in blind. I say we employ the Vymerian Raptor Riders."

"Are you sure that is wise, my Lord?" Lord Ryder questioned. "This may be extremely dangerous, sending those scouts in without backup could be signing their death sentence."

"My Lord, do not make the mistake of underestimating them," Torrhen smirked. "I grew up with one of them, and she is the toughest person I know. Now, if there is nothing else?"

The Lords bow, and they all disperse outside of the conference room. Torrhen stepped outside, running his hands through his hair.

"Went that well, huh?" a female voice sounded behind him, and he turned to lock eyes with a very familiar face. His grey eyes met her green, and he took the time to scan her. Her long blonde hair was tied back and out of her face. Her hair being back exposed her ears, long and pointed. His eyes fell on the tattoos, two parallel lines starting at the corner of each eye and tracing the underside of her eye before reaching to the dipping down to her nostrils. Freckles dotted her tan skin.

"Got some real bad news, is all," Torrhen shook his head, flashing a small grin. "It's good to see you. You've been gone quite some time."

"Yeah, well Elder Nari needed my help, and I can't say no to the leader of my people," she smiled back at him. "But I'm here, now. I'm sorry about your father, I heard about his illness. Elder Nari assures you she will never rest until she finds some way to cure him."

"Tell her that means a lot to my family. It's good you're here, Bri, because I have a mission for you."

"Oh, do you now? Please, enlighten me."

"Have you heard about the Citadel of the Dawn?"

"Heard what?"

"It was attacked. More like destroyed. The Uid'hir have some sort of immensely powerful blood mage, and have begun an assault on our home. I need to know how strong they are, how many ships and men they have, and where they're going. I want the Raptor Riders to find out."

"You want us out there, behind enemy lines with no backup?"

"Can you handle it?"

A smirk falls onto her face. "Absolutely."

"That's damn good to hear, Briala. I wish I could go with you, truly. But I have to lead our attack force. This is only a recon mission, do not engage. Find out what you can about their strength, and report back to the Eye of the Old Gods. That is where we are staging our retaliation."

"Just give us some time to prepare, we should be ready to leave by tomorrow."

"Thank you," Torrhen placed a hand on her shoulder. "For everything. It's times like these that I miss the days when we were children, you, me, and Vilkas running around the courtyard chasing eachother with sticks."

Briala laughed, a warm and bright sound. "From what I remember, you could never catch us. We were always faster. Remember when we tricked you into the Grecko stables? I swear that Grecko chased you around for hours, you were screaming so loud your dad thought someone was trying to attack!"

He groaned, face turning red against his will. "Of course I remember. I remember the tongue lashing we all got from mother as a result of it. Father just stood beside her, trying to hide his smirk. He failed, miserably."

They settled into a calm silence, once their laughter died down. "Gods, what I wouldn't give to have those days back. No worries, no stress, my brother and mother here with us…"

"We can't change the past, Torr. All we can do is keep living, for their memory."

"I know. It's just so exhausting, carrying all this weight on my own. Having to be strong because too many people rely on me. I can't break down despite how desperately I want to. Every day I stare out at the sea and contemplate what I'd do had I been born without these expectations. I'd be a sailor, definitely. Maybe even a captain one day…"

"Torr, you aren't on your own. You have lords and people to help you, and you've got me. I'll always have your back."

"I know. I am so glad you're back. Stay safe out there, okay?"

"I will," she promised. "Now, tell me about this guest we have?"

His eyes widened. He had completely forgotten about her in all the confusion. "Shit…I forgot about her. I should go see how she's settling in. Her name is Arya Stark. She's from the homeland."

"Are you sure she's not faking?"

"She sailed in from the sunset sea, my men saw her. And her every feature screams Stark. I believe her."

Briala nodded her head. "Go visit her. We'll talk again tonight."

"Over a bottle of wine, like old times?"

"Of course," she smirked. "I bet I can still drink you under the table."

"Funny," he laughed before turning and walking away. Torrhen let his mind wander as he walked those all too familiar halls. Briala had grown up with him and his brother, she was the daughter of the Chief of the Vymerians and was fostered there to continue friendly relations. The three were inseparable, always getting into trouble together. Then, when he was twenty, she went home. It had been two years since she left, and it affected him more than he wanted to admit. She was his rock, his best friend. Especially after his brother disappeared.

He didn't realize how much he needed her until she wasn't there. In the span of those two years he lost his mother, brother, his father fell ill, and he took on the responsibility of ruling a kingdom and raising a child.

"Brother!" a small, childish voice squeaked out, before two tiny pairs of arms wrapped around his neck from behind and the weight of a small person fell against his back. "You're back!"

He laughed as he spun around, spinning the child on his back around with him. Her childlike giggles bounced against the wall as the two siblings laughed. Eventually she dropped from his back and he stood in front of her, crouched to eye level. "Yes, I am, Talia. Although, it won't be for very long. I have to go back out there."

She pouted. "Why? I miss you, it's like you're never here. Everyone else won't play with me…"

He smiled, and wiped a strand of hair out of her face. "Hopefully, I won't be gone long. I have to protect the kingdom from monsters. I can't do that from here."

"Why can't you let everyone else do it?"

"Because, Talia, it's our responsibility. I am Prince of Winter, and acting as Regent while father is ill. It would be unfair of me to ask them to fight if I won't fight beside them."

"I guess that makes sense…"

"Talia, you're my younger sister. If I could spend every day running around with you, believe me, I would. But I will be back, I promise. Can you be strong until then?"

She nodded, and he ruffled her hair. "I knew you would, you're the toughest one here. Now, come, I want to introduce you to someone."

"Oh, who is it?"

"She's family, from very far away. Westeros, the land we came from."

"Westeros…?" she questioned, looking up at him.

"You haven't gotten there in your lessons, but you will," he smiled down at her. "Now, she is family, however distant, and we must show her the utmost hospitality. Especially while I'm gone. Can you do that?"

She nodded her head, looking up at him with a comically exaggerated tough expression.

"Do you even know what those words mean?"

She looked at him, mask of toughness being quickly broken by confusion as she thought, face scrunching up.

He laughed, ruffling her hair. "Come on, let's go say hello."

It didn't take them long to arrive at Arya's quarters, and he gave a polite knock. A few moments later, the door opened to Arya. She had changed into a sleeveless leather outfit, more fitting for the environment. "Hello, Prince Torrhen."

"I told you, it's just Torrhen. We're family, after all. Speaking of family, allow me to introduce Talia Stark, my younger sister."

She stepped out from behind his back, smiling. "Hi. Big brother says you're from really far away."

The tips of her mouth raised slightly into a small smile. "Yes, I am. I'm from Westeros, a place called the North. It's where you're from. Or, technically, your ancestors."

"What's it like?"

"Cold."

Torrhen patted his sister on the head. "Run along and play, now. You can interrogate her more later."

She pouted, but nodded and ran off. "Bye, Arya!"

"She's a handful, but I love her to death," Torrhen commented as she ran. "When my father fell ill and my mother passed away, she became my responsibility to take care of."

"I'm sorry about your family," she said, looking away. He could tell she had felt the same pain he did, he could see it in her eyes. "I know a thing or two about losing parents."

"All we can do is live on, right? Honor their memory. I'm trying to hold out hope about father, he's called the Obelisk for a reason. He's tough. But, I have to be realistic, we have no way to cure him that we know of."

She nodded, unsure of what to say. "While I'm here, I'll help however I can."

"I appreciate that," he smiled. "I noticed the blades you carry. Are you a warrior?"

"Something like that," she replied.

"I would love to test these martial skills of yours in a spar, if you're feeling up to it?"

She grinned at him. "Of course."

"Fantastic. Follow me to the training grounds."

When they arrived at the training grounds, there was already a small crowd. Mostly soldiers training before they went to counter attack the Uid'hir, but when they saw their Prince approach they turned and knelt.

He laughed, signaling them to stand. "Men, who here is interested in seeing a true contest? With me stands Arya Stark, hailing from our ancient homeland of Westeros! She is willing to partake in a small sparring session with me, to show us how they fight back in the North! Watch and take notes."

They took their sides of the courtyard, readying their weapons and stretching out before the fight. Then, they turned to face eachother, approaching slowly.

They nodded their heads to eachother, in a sign of mutual respect. Then, the match began.

Torrhen lunged in, stabbing his blade forward at his foe. She sidestepped, using her dagger to knock his blade aside. He had the range advantage on her smaller blades, but she was clearly faster than him. He had to prepare for that.

He sent a few more probing strikes at her, getting a feel for her defense. She relied on dodging and evading, her smaller blades too weak to truly block. His best strategy would be to get her tired, and get her to make a mistake.

Torrhen then truly went on the offensive. She may be faster, but he was no slouch. He stepped forward, bringing a vicious overhead strike down towards her. She rolled to the side, but he was quick and twisted the momentum of the blade from straight down to the direction she rolled. She bent her upper half, making herself nearly parallel to the ground to duck under his strike.

He had overcommitted, not expecting her to be as agile. She used this to her advantage, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. He fell to the ground, but anticipated that move and turned it into a roll, creating some distance.

This time, Arya bridged the gap. She ran forward, striking high with her thin blade. He countered, batting her blade away, but she used the momentum of the powerful counter to spin and duck low, striking at his legs. He stepped back, lifting his right leg and stepping on her blade. It fell from her hands and he pressed the advantage, using his other leg to kick her in the chest. She fell onto her back with a gasp, getting her breathe back.

Torrhen slid her blade back to her, twirling his in his hand as he watched her. In a shock display of athleticism, she jumped up from her back straight to her feet, grabbing her blade and standing in a crouched stance. She moved like an animal, ferocious and low and predatory, as they circled eachother.

They attacked in sync, each unable to get the upper hand. Arya parried each of his strikes masterfully, but he was skilled enough to prevent her from using it to get any advantage. She lunged forward as she stabbed with her thin blade, directly at his face. He moved his head to the side, grabbing her arm and kneeing her in the gut. He sent her elbow for her face, pressing the advantage of her being doubled over, but she pulled back at the last second, sending her legs far above her head and wrapping them around his neck. She continued her falling motion, pulling him with her. They both landed with a thud, her straddling his chest with her blade at his neck.

"Looks like I win," she smirked, faces inches away from eachother.

"Did you?" he replied, gesturing with his head to her exposed midsection. Where her own dagger was, being wielded by him. "It appears to be a draw."

"Well played, Torrhen Stark," she stood up, offering her hand to help him up.

"Same to you. You have a very unique style of combat. In fact, it's perfectly suited to a mission I am sending some of my scouts on. Interested?"

"Tell me more."

**Here we go! Chapter 5 is finally completed! Please don't hesitate to leave reviews or PM me with thoughts! I have a plan for where I want this to go but I'm always open to ideas! **


	6. Briala I

**Hello all! Here is the next installment in this series. I struggled with this one, but I'm proud of the result. I really hope you all enjoy this, and don't forget to leave a review!**

Briala stood in the castle armory, sharpening arrows. She knew it was a recon mission, but only a fool went in unprepared. Especially a mission so dangerous.

To be honest, she wasn't sure about this. This was the largest threat they had ever faced, and they knew next to nothing about it. That didn't sit well with her, and she didn't like the idea of dragging her fellow Raptor Riders into something with so little information.

But they needed to know more. And they were the best equipped group to find out. So, despite her reservations, she prepared to move out.

When an unfamiliar aura appeared close to her, she opened her eyes and smirked. "Hello, you must be the visitor from the East. Arya, was it?" She turned to make contact with the foreigner, whose grey eyes were wide open.

"Did you hear me?" she asked, sounding shocked. In truth, she hadn't. The girl moved like a ghost, a shadow.

"Oh, no. I felt you," she sent a soft smile at the girl. "Tell me, have you been told much about my people?"

"Not much, if I'm honest. Just that you're native to these lands and work with my distant ancestors."

"Well, that is the truth. But, there is a bit more to us than that. You see, these lands have always had magic flowing through them. All living things here have some of it, flowing through their veins. Us Vymerians, it is more powerful than most. We have more control of it. And with this control comes a special ability, a sixth sense of sorts. We can see the aura of any living being."

Arya Stark looked attentive. She didn't speak, just nodded that she understood and for Briala to continue. "Magic flows through our bodies, deep inside of our blood. There are two ways to control it, to manipulate the blood or to increase the power inside of the blood. The people who manipulate blood are referred to as blood mages, and they have the most destructive power. They can do things such as change the elements or turn their blood into weapons. The people who enhance the magical power of the blood inside themselves are called vigor mages. Vigor mages can make people walk faster or jump higher or have more power in their swing. Truly skilled ones can even heal wounds."

"What is it about this place that makes it so special? Westeros had no such power."

"I must correct you on that fact, Lady Stark," Briala shook her head. "All living beings have the potential for this power. A few of your ancestors here have learned these abilities. But, in your home, it is weakened by the very nature of the continent. You see, magic is a force, an element like water. There are locations where it is stronger, and places where it is diluted. We don't know exactly why, but something deep inside these islands just brings this power to the surface."

Briala shook her head, running her hand through her hair. "I apologize, I'm sure you didn't come here for a lesson on forces nobody truly understands anyway. What brings you down here to the castle armory? Torr dragging you into this fight?"

"Torr?" she questioned, amused look on her face. It was rare for Briala to slip up and call him that nickname in front of anyone else, but her recent return had her head scrambled. She silently cursed to herself, and Arya chuckled lightly. "Not dragged, necessarily. He merely asked if I could aid in your mission in some way. We had a sparring session and he was impressed."

"MY mission?" Briala raised an eyebrow. "Don't take this the wrong way, my lady, but are you sure you want to come along? Not only is this dangerous, but it requires a skill in not being seen or heard. Now, you have that not being heard down to a tee, but this land is very foreign to you, I'm sure. Can you handle it?"

She nodded. "This is the kind of mission I was trained for. I'm…very adaptable."

"Fair enough. If Prince Torrhen trusts you and believes you could, help, then I'm happy to bring you along. Tell me, have you ever flown on the back of a raptor?"

"Flown?" she asked, shock and excitement in her eyes. "You have creatures large enough to ride here?"

Briala barely stifled her laugh. "Yes, we certainly do. You can ride with me on mine, since we don't have much time to teach you how to fly on the spot. It isn't too challenging, just like riding a Grecko except in the air."

Arya nodded. Briala gave her a smile and patted her on the shoulder. "Get your things ready, we leave tomorrow at dawn. Get some rest."

Briala then left the armory, walking throughout the castle that was a second home to the young daughter of the Vymerian chief. She practically grew up here in these walls, and they hadn't changed a bit since she was a child. She stared at the stone walls, occasionally dotted with portraits or banners, and smiled as she reminisced on the simple days.

Long before Torrhen's father got sick, long before Vilkas disappeared, long before life went to hell and they were stuck wondering why and carrying the world on their shoulders.

Finally, she arrived at her destination, Torrhen Stark's chamber. She knocked lightly, and it didn't take long for him to open the door. He grinned at her, showing the bottle of wine he pulled from the cellar with a flourish. She smirked, stepping in.

She took a second to scan his face, looking deeply at it. Two years had changed him so much and not at all, at the same time. His face was mostly the same, beard a bit longer than it had been but overall few changes. It was his eyes that showed his evolution, screaming change to anyone who knew him before he was thrust into power out of nowhere.

He looked tired. The once vibrant greys had dulled, like a fire that had almost gone out. It seemed that, although they were light, there were bags there that no amount of sleep could undo. His smile barely seemed to rise to his eyes, despite how hard he tried to keep a mask on. It was pretty easy for her to read past it, after all they were so close.

"Glad to see you came," he said to her, pulling out a seat for her at his table and sitting down, setting down two glasses and filling them with wine.

"And miss a chance to out drink you?" she asked with a smirk. "Never."

He laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "So, tell me all about your time away. Anything interesting?"

So, she did. She told stories of her days helping out back in the village and exploring and doing odd missions for her mother or fighting off bands of raiding Uid'hir.

Before they knew it, the bottle of wine was empty and they had been telling stories well into the night.

He smiled, finishing the last of the wine in his cup. "Do you think this war will end?" His question caught her off guard, everything so light before.

She nodded. "Yes, I do. I have to. I refuse to believe we'll be at war forever. We'll win this, we'll end this threat. I believe that."

"How?" he blurts out, standing and looking out his large window, staring intently out to the sea. "We don't even know where they bloody come from! It's the same cycle, over and over. They send a fleet to attack, we repel them, they retreat, we prepare, they come again. I'm just…I'm tired, you know? Of fighting, of leading, of watching men I care about die over and over again."

Briala stood up, approaching and putting her hand on his arm, just above the elbow. "You won't be fighting forever, Torr. This war will end, it has to. And we will all stand beside you until it does. You are not fighting this war yourself, you have me to help you."

He turned to her, tears in his eyes, and put his arm around her shoulder, holding her close to him and pulling her into a hug.

They stood there, just in each others embrace, for gods know how long. Neither one moved, neither willing to let this moment go. She felt safe, holding onto this man she knew her whole life. This man who stood tall for everyone when every part of him was shattering, who stayed brave because he had to. He was the rock of the Starks and the Vymerians, the warrior who stood tall in the most strenuous time in their history. When everything seemed to be going wrong all at once, he stood tall. Proud. She stayed there, both knowing that breaking away might mean both of them falling apart all at once. They held eachother together, figuratively and literally.

It was at this moment she realized she loved him. Deep down, to her core, she loved this man. She always had, if she were honest. From the goofy young kid she ran around the halls with, to the older boy who picked random flowers from the garden to put in her hair, to the man who stood on the docks the day she left and smiled though she could tell it was killing him to lose his best friend.

She loved him, and he loved her too. It didn't need to be said out loud, words would only ruin the moment. But they knew.

The hug finally broke apart, and they stood, faces inches away from each others. She could smell the wine on him, could feel every deep breath he took.

"You should get some sleep," he smiled, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I'll be there to see you off tomorrow, I promise."

She smiled, leaning her face into his hand. "You better. You get some sleep, too, something tells me you haven't been getting as much as you should."

"You've always known me so well," he shook his head, pulling away slightly. "Goodnight, Briala."

"Goodnight, Torrhen."

And with that, she left. She went back to her room, the one she lived much of her life in, and lied down, sleep coming easily to her.

**There you have it! I hope the magic made sense, if you have any questions or comments please review or PM and I will do my best to respond and explain. Here ends the last bit of setup before everything REALLY heats up! Hope you enjoyed!**


	7. Arya III

**Hello! I am loving all the support I'm getting for this story, so here I am with chapter 7! Please review, they're extremely important to me to hear feedback and thoughts.**

Waves gently pushed against stone, flowing back and forth in a near constant pattern. Arya watched the water with interest, from her seat on the railing of the balcony attached to her guest room.

Night in the Winter Archipelago was quite different than daytime. Where the afternoons were hot and humid, the nights were cool. Not as cool as she was used to, but far more comfortable than the new climate during the day.

Things had changed, fast, and she appreciated the few moments to process everything. She was in what felt like a whole new world, with a lot to wrap her mind around. She hadn't expected to leave Winterfell just to find more Starks, more family, somewhere else, much less somewhere so far away.

Then there was the issue of this mission she was on. She wasn't sure why she accepted, if she were honest. She didn't owe these people anything, and they were so distant that she could barely consider them family other than their family name.

But the look on Torrhen's face sent a message: he needed help. Badly. He had those eyes that carried more weight than they should. Eye's like her brother Jon. The brother who helped her sneak out of nans lessons and gave her the first sword she ever owned and believed in her when no one else did. And she would do anything to help Jon.

Besides, she missed the thrill of purpose. Something to do that she was good at.

Her mind drifted to her family. Well, what was left of her family. She wondered about Jon. How he was faring on the wall, with the Wildlings. She knew he loved them, almost as much as they adored him, and hoped that he could forgive himself for killing the Mad Queen and find some kind of happiness. He more than earned it.

Then her thoughts fell to Sansa, alone in Winterfell ruling their home. She was proud of her sister, truly. She had changed the most out of all of them, from a girl dreaming of knights and flowers to a woman who knew how to do what must be done to protect her people. Despite this strength, Arya still felt guilt for her sisters suffering. She wasn't supposed to be the one who was hardened, the killer, the ruthless one. She was light, and that light was snuffed out by monsters and torture and cruelties that only her eyes spoke of.

Then there was Bran. Her younger brother, now something that she could barely understand. He was hardly human anymore. He didn't smile, he didn't laugh, he lost the ability to run around and play with her like they did as kids. He couldn't climb, like he loved so much. He was a shell, an emotionless husk. A vessel for something far beyond her comprehension. And, he was King. Stuck in the burned out ruins of Kings Landing. Starks never did well in the south, but she hoped and prayed Bran would break that cycle.

None with the Stark name had it easy. But it made them strong, it made them survivors, and she had to hope that one day their survival became more than that. They deserved to live, real lives. She would only bring them down. She was pure darkness, whereas the others only stared into the darkness she basked in it, slept in it, became it.

Her presence with any of them would only bring them down to her level, and they deserved better than that.

So, here she sat, weeks of sailing away from everyone she ever knew, tagging along on a mission on the back of a flying bird to scout an invasion of a species of lizard people led by a man with magic that could destroy castles.

She'd faced worse before. She killed the Night King and ended the Long Night. She could handle this, easily.

The sun inched into the horizon, signaling just how long she had spent pondering her life on this balcony. She sighed, rubbing her temple before dropping back onto solid ground. She should probably warn her bodyguard, Cregan, so that he knew where she was going.

She couldn't take him with her, he wasn't exactly built for recon. He'd argue, but she was right on this. Now, to make him see that…

"Absolute not!" roared Cregan Snow. "I am not letting you go behind enemy lines by yourself!"

"I won't be by myself," she countered, crossing her arms. "I have ten Vymerian warriors going with me. People who are built for the mission at hand. Unlike you. You coming will just put us in more danger."

"I don't like it, My lady," he mumbled. "I was tasked to protect you."

"And, right now, the best way you can do that is stay here and fight with the Prince. This is a recon mission," she looked at him, softening her gaze. "We're not even supposed to make contact."

He nodded, begrudgingly. "Come back safe, My Lady. Your sister would skin me alive if anything happened to you."

She chuckled. "You have a point there."

She turned around, walking to the raptor stables. They were leaving shortly, and she held no desire to be late.

"Remember what I said. Recon only," she heard Torrhen's voice as she got close. He was talking to Briala, as the others prepared their mounts for the trip. "No contact, at all. Get whatever information you can and get back to me. Unharmed."

Briala just smirked at him. "You sound like your mother, always worrying. Relax, my friend, we know what we're doing. Don't forget we're the best in these isles at what we do."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I could never forget, with you always reminding me."

Arya maintained a respectful distance, waiting for the two old friends to finish their conversation.

"Briala, I…" Torrhen began, before shaking his head. "Nevermind, it isn't important."

"Torr, you can tell me anything. You know that."

"This can wait. I need you focused on the mission," he smirked at her. "Come back, safe, and I'll tell you. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," she grins back, before turning around and approaching her mount to prepare it.

That's when Torrhen noticed Arya, and flashed her a smile. "Ah, Arya! You're here, good! I am sorry to ask this of you, but you have no idea how grateful I am you accepted this mission. Stay safe, and may the Old Gods watch over you."

She nods. "You as well, Torrhen."

It was obvious there was something between them, something far more than friendship. She suspected that was what he was going to admit, in fact she was almost positive of it. She didn't make it this far without being able to read people, and the people here weren't very challenging to read. Clearly, this land was more trusting than Westeros.

She approached Briala, slowly, marveling at the large beasts they would be traveling on. They were beautiful, with feathers of a rich brown. This deep brown also contained specks of white. They stood almost as tall as a horse, with massive sharp talons. Their eyes stood out to her, powerful and radiating strength. Its beak was sharp and short, a vibrant yellow color.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" a voice she didn't recognize sounded out, and she turned to lock eyes with a Vymerian male. He had long hair, a deep chestnut color, and vibrant green eyes. A tattoo that looked like three talons ran across his left eye. "Majestic beasts, these birds of prey. Bonding with a creature of nature is part of our culture, a right of passage. Those of us who bond with the large birds join a select few in our society, the Raptor Riders. You ride with us today, right?"

She nodded her head, face blank. Truthfully, she was nervous about flying on the backs of these creatures. She had never flown before, and that fact terrified and excited her to no end.

He chuckled, patting her on the shoulder. "I can feel your nerves, Lady Stark. Do not fear, these creatures and their riders have a bond since they were children. We trust them, and in return they trust us. And you ride with Briala, who's bond is the strongest. You are safe. I guarantee it."

Arya took a second to digest his words, breathing deeply.

"Vyrus here is right," Briala cut in with a reassuring smile. "You'll be just fine. You ready to go?"

Well, here goes nothing. She nodded, and Briala helped her up on the back of the large bird. The creature stared at Briala, curiosity and slight discomfort in its eyes. Briala patted it on the side of the neck, rubbing comforting circles along its neck to reassure it. She then climbed up onto its back, readying takeoff.

Torrhen began waving a goodbye, and before she knew it the ground began to disappear as the raptor began to fly, darting off the ground with wide strokes of its wings.

Once the initial feeling in her stomach went away, she immediately fell in love with the feeling of being in the air. She could barely contain the grin on her face as she stared down at the islands and water around her, having this amazing bird's eye view. The rush of adrenaline coursing her veins was addictive, and she saw now the appeal that riding a dragon must have had, as well as the power it made one feel.

"Holding on okay back there?" Briala asked, turning back with a grin.

"This is amazing!" Arya replied. She felt like a child, barely able to hold herself back from laughing as they soared through the sky.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

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